The Length of Sweet Nothings
by Chronicles of Dreams
Summary: What exactly is the length of sweet nothings? It depends on the character in question - from 50 years to eternity, this is how the characters of Inuyasha view love. So far, MirSan, soon to add InuKag and maybe InuKikyo
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yay! My first attempt at fanfic in a good while. Reviews are greatly appreciated, as I have no clue how people view my writing and how to improve it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha and make no profit off this story.

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Sighing, Miroku gingerly lowered himself into the small wooden bath. Leaning his head back against the planks, he tried to relax his body in the prickling heat and ignore the throbbing in his bruised arms. This week had been rough – more demons around than usual, and more relentless in their attacks on humans. It was simply unpleasant – Kagome had ended up spending far more time than usual on this side, and she wasn't very kind to Inuyasha when she left. Well, when was she ever that kind before she left? They always seemed to fight before parting at any rate. And Sango had been especially cold to him as well this week…of course, there had been that small incident with the remarkably lovely village girl on Tuesday...

He shifted slowly, feeling the warmth seep into his tightened back muscles – ah, that was better. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this sore. Plus, Sango's retribution for his wandering intentions was compounding the aches on his body. Wooing a woman who wields a boomerang taller than you is dangerous for a man's health, he thought to himself, nodding solemnly in the bath. Yes, the tragedies of a flowering youth, and the violent passions of a woman's tender heart.

Unconsciously he clenched his hand, feeling the familiar brush of cloth and metal ring shifting on his finger. He hated bathing with it – other times he hardly noticed. But when the cloth was wet it stuck to his hand, and the tightened portion over his palm felt dangerously loose. Then the beads would slip lower onto his wrist, sometimes resting in his palm. He hated the way they felt in his hand, too. The condensed, unforgiving pressure of the small spheres in his hand - they glowed serenely under the shimmering bath water. He would tear them off, if he could. He hoped that someday he would, but he never allowed himself to hope too strongly. Nor did he allow himself to think on it this long, usually. It must be that the week was so arduous.

And the absolute worst (he stiffens indignantly on the seat thinking of it)! When the beads would loosen and slip at unseemly times, such as when he was attempting to do justice to Sango's divine bounty the only way he knew how! How she would punish him, in such an event; as if it weren't enough that the beads had ruined the effect to begin with. That was when he truly resented them. They might preserve his life, but only for so long – besides, his life was so constrained, so defined by these beads, he didn't know what direction life might take him if they were gone. After all, it was because of the beads he had sought Naraku, and been fortunate enough to meet Kagome, Inuyasha, Shippo, Sango. But then, it was because of the beads he couldn't tell her what he meant.

When imagining a life without them now, he imagined a life where he could romantically clasp her hand in his and declare his everlasting love without the thin shield between his palm and hers. And a life where she could take his arm without feeling the small points of weight pressing urgently against her skin. A life with time on his side. But until then, he couldn't ask any more of Sango and he couldn't ask her to bear a child marked with his curse – it would die with him, or he would live on without it, but he would not let the cycle continue. And that meant discarding the one woman who meant most to him until the fighting was over. Of course, it was a difficult burden to bear, he nodded again with a melancholy sigh. He must cut a tragically noble figure, in retrospect. Someday, they all would appreciate him as a model of self-restraint, in fact! A monk is a man, in all eventuality. But he always has the smallest distance between them to remind himself, every time he touches her – just the breadth of a bead, to keep them apart.


	2. The Endurance of Patience

A/N: A little bit from Sango's perspective, reflecting over the licentious monk. Simply because he often seems to get the best of her emotions, and though she would hate to admit it she can't ignore it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha. I do not profit from this story.

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"THWACK!"

Hiraikotsu connected heavily with Miroku's offending limb, and he quickly recoiled. Just a little tap, a slight reminder she thought virtuously, hefting the weapon over her shoulder and stalking off with a venomous glance at the monk who was now nursing his arm.

Just something for him to think on, next time he decided to try _that_.

Well, it wasn't so much that she minded the attention…but rather that the misplaced location and intention of his caresses, and the significant lack of loyalty to her cause alone made her wary of his true objectives.

Not that she even cared, she thought to herself, blushing a little while angrily walking faster and faster. After all, who would be jealous over an idiot like that? Her frown deepened. Some monk, the lecher had just asked that girl to bear his child immediately after heroically taking a blow from the demon to protect Sango. And then, sensing her anger, he decided to reconcile and assure Sango of his everlasting (she snorted) devotion. Except he was always trying to reconcile with the wrong part of her.

That's right, she thought, slowing her pace a little. Why do I really care what he does? It's not like there was ever any official…understanding. Again, she played the same arguments in her head, reviewing his actions and her emotions, silently playing out scenes in her mind and analyzing them for some sign of truth. Yes, he did flirt shamelessly with every woman. Yes, he did accost her more than most – but she was simply around him more than most. But yes, he was handsome (she would die before she let him know she thought so) and very brave, and often selfless despite his avaricious pursuits. And yes, she would like to think she was special to him, even if she didn't like to admit it. She sighed heavily again and stopped in the middle of the path. Turning around, she saw the rest of the group meandering down the path – no doubt tactfully allowing her time to cool off after watching her get jealous over Miroku. Her eyes narrowed at the slight embarrassment she felt burning her cheeks. Even if all of them understood it so clearly, Miroku just always seemed to make her feel like a fool. Her eyes stung a little, but she didn't allow herself to cry. Instead she turned roughly on her foot and continued walking.

Cool off, would she? She'd show him. She'd be a total iceberg until he groveled for her forgiveness, that's what she'd do. She was a patient woman, she could wait. Yes, she did wait – and she had waited years to meet someone she loved, so why was it this idiot in the end? What a tragedy. And what if he were incapable of really loving her in the same way? Well, that's what caution was for, and Sango was certainly cautious in affairs of the heart. She supposed she would have to wait, even though Miroku's life could be preciously short. What exactly was it that people say – sometimes the anticipation of something is better than the having of it? It sounded like something Miroku would say while in the process of attempting to grope her. Despite her best efforts, she had to smile wryly at the thought. He certainly wasn't what she would have imagined for herself before they met, but now that she knew him it became consistently harder to remember what she had thought love was in the first place.

But still, it was time to make him suffer a little. As she preferred to say, the best way to a demon (or man's) heart is by tearing a hole through the ribcage.


End file.
